A few days more brought me to my last day’s march on the banks of the
Jumna, and the mosques and minarets of the ancient capital of India
broke on my delighted view.
I had scarcely dismounted from my pony at my tent door, which commanded
a distant glimpse of the blue and “soft stealing” Jumna, when I
perceived three Europeans on horseback approaching at a hard gallop. As
they drew near, I recognized in one of the three my friend and Mentor,
Captain Marpeet. He was soon up, and warm and cordial was our greeting.
“Well, my boy, long looked-for comes at last; glad to have you amongst
us, Gernon,” said he, presenting me to his companions, two laughing,
beardless ensigns; “let me introduce you to my two boys, Wildfire and
Skylark; two intractable dogs,” added he, laughing; “have given me twice
the trouble to break in that you did.”
Wildfire and Skylark shook hands with me, and in ten minutes we were as
intimate as if we had known each other for six months.
“Come, mount again, Gernon,” said Marpeet; “you are but a few miles from
Delhi, and it is useless for you to remain here all day. Come along; I
have breakfast all ready for you at my shop; your things, you know, can
follow to-morrow; you don’t, though, appear to be overburthened with
baggage, Frank, eh? Dogs, too—hah—regular terrier bunnow.[56] Great a
griff as ever, I see—hah! hah!”
We pursued our course towards cantonments, Marpeet riding in the midst
of his _protégés_ as proudly as an old gander on a green at the head of
three orphan goslings.
We crossed the river Jumna in a broad, square, flat-bottomed ferry-boat;
and after riding through some rich cultivation on its banks, joined a
road skirting part of the ruins of ancient Delhi, which from that point
exhibited a confused assemblage of ruins—fort, mosque, tomb, and
palace—stretching far away behind us in the distance, towards what I
afterwards learned was the mausoleum of Humaioon.
I was particularly struck, as I rode on, by one large desolate building,
which Captain Marpeet informed me was the ancient palace of Firoze Shah.
A lofty pillar of stone, something like one of the round towers of
Ireland, rose out of the centre of it, whilst the whole mass of building
exhibited a touching picture of loneliness and desolation; long grass
and the silvery roots of the peepul grew around the battered arches and
casements, out of one of which a couple of fat and saucy jackals were
peeping, to reconnoitre us as we rode beneath.
We entered the modern city near the mansion of the Nawaub Ahmed Buksh
Khan,[57] through an embattled gateway occupied by a guard of Nujjeebs,
a sort of highly picturesque militia, attired in the Hindoostanee garb,
and armed and equipped with crooked-stocked matchlocks, mull-shaped
powder-horns, and other paraphernalia of a very primitive and
extraordinary description. These men, who were upon guard, were smoking,
sleeping, and doing their best to kill old Time, that enemy who, in the
long run, is pretty sure to kill us.
We were soon in that part of the town called Derriow Gunge, where a
portion of the troops were cantoned,[58] and drawing up before an odd
sort of building, of a very mixed style of architecture, my friend
dismounted, and announced my arrival at Marpeet Hall, “to which, my
boy,” said he, with a squeeze, “you are heartily welcome, and where you
may stick up your spoon, with my two babes in the wood there, as long as
you please; don’t blow me up, that’s all, or set the house on fire, and
you may do what else you like. So now for breakfast,” said the captain,
cracking his half-hunter (whip), as a hint, I presumed, to the
_bawurchee_ (cook) to be expeditious, and shouting “_hazree looe
juldee_” (“breakfast quickly”), he motioned us to enter, and followed.
The captain’s residence had been in the olden time a mosque or tomb, I
cannot exactly say which; but with the addition of a terrace and
verandah, and a few extra doors punched through walls six feet thick, it
made a capital abode, combining the coolness in summer and the warmth in
winter, which result from this solid mode of construction, with the
superadded European conveniences.
My friend’s house was but a type of that widespreading process of
adaptation which is now going on throughout the East, and its
inhabitants, and which, as long as it does not effect a too radical
alteration of that which “nature and their stars” intended for a people
so circumstanced, is much to be rejoiced at.
Breakfast was laid out in a vaulted chamber, as massive as a bomb-proof,
the walls and roofs in compartments, with here and there a niche for a
cheragh, or lamp. There were we, a jovial quartetto, eating red herrings
and rashers of the “unclean beast,” where the moollah had pronounced his
“_Allah-il-Allah_,” or possibly over the respectable dust of some mighty
Mogul Omrah.
After breakfast, Marpeet took me to the adjutant of my new regiment—a
tall, strapping, good-looking man, of about eight-and-twenty, who told
me I must report myself immediately to Colonel Bobbery, the commandant
of my regiment, as also of the station.
“You have been some time on your way up, haven’t you?” said the
adjutant, significantly; “we began to be half afraid that the Thugs had
made away with you, or that you had gone on a pilgrimage to Hurdwar.”
“I fear I have exceeded my proper time very considerably,” I replied;
“but I must ascribe it to the hospitality of friends whom I met with on
the way.”
“Well, you must settle all that,” replied the adjutant, “with the
colonel, who has often been inquiring for you, and to whose quarters we
will now, if you please, proceed.”
I began to feel confoundedly nervous, and to apprehend that I was now
about to taste a few of the incipient sweets of military subjection. The
adjutant buckled on his accoutrements, I did the like with mine, which,
at Marpeet’s suggestion, I had brought with me, and off we walked to the
colonel’s.
“Rather a harsh man, the colonel, isn’t he?” said I, as we went along,
hoping to elicit a little consolation in the shape of a negative.
“Why,” said the adjutant, “he is certainly a great stickler for duty,
and fond of working the young hands—what we call a ‘tight hand.’”
I was “floored.”
The colonel’s bungalow was on the ramparts of the city, overlooking the
Jumna, and the expanse of country through which it flows. Orderlies and
a posse of silver-stick men, &c., were about the door; we entered, and
the adjutant presented me to Colonel Bobbery, one of the most
extraordinary-looking little mortals I ever beheld.
The colonel’s height was about five feet four—perhaps less—and his body
as nearly approaching to an oblate spheriod as any body I ever beheld.
This orbicular mass was supported on two little legs, adorned with very
crumpled tights, and a pair of Hessian boots, then much worn, and
_minus_ the usual appendage of tassels. His neck, which was remarkably
long, was girt round with a very tight black stock, on the top of which,
as may be supposed, was his head, the most extraordinary part of this
very original specimen of “the human form divine;” his front face
(profile he had none, which could be properly so called, bating an
irregular curve with a large bulbous projection about the middle) was
fat and rubicund; his nose Bardolphian, flanked by two goggle eyes, in
which the several expressions of intellect, fun, and sensuality were
singularly blended. A small Welsh wig completed the oddest _tout
ensemble_ I had yet seen in India.
“Oh! you are the young gentleman we have been expecting for the last
five months?—better late than never—glad to see you at last, sir.”
I mentioned something about friends—hospitality—and detention.
“Oh, yes, yes! I know all about that; the old story; yes, yes! but you
must be quicker in your future movements—eh, Marchwell?” said he,
turning to the adjutant; “_verbum sap._, you know, _verbum sap._”
After a rather prolonged conversation, during which I informed him I had
done duty with the Zuburdust Bullumteers, and gave him some account of
his friend, Mr. Sympkin, which he was pleased to receive, I rose to take
my leave.
“Who are you with?” asked the colonel.
I told him with Captain Marpeet.
“Oh! my friend Marpeet, eh? Well, tell him to dine with me to-morrow,
and bring you with him. I dine at six, and wait for nobody. Marchwell,
Mr. Gernon will attend all drills, parades, and guard-mountings; we
mustn’t let you forget what Colonel Lolsaug has taught you.”
I soon became comfortably domiciled with my friend Marpeet, who
introduced me to my brother-officers, and put me generally in the way of
doing all that was requisite in the new scene in which I found myself.
The more I saw of Marpeet, the more the extreme kindness and benevolence
of his disposition became apparent. The tenderness of his nature,
indeed, was frequently too much for his assumed rough and devil-me-care
manner (which he thought manly), and would sometimes, if he was taken by
surprise, show itself with almost a woman’s weakness.
Marpeet, as I have before stated, from invincible shyness, or
awkwardness with females, or dislike of the restraint it imposed, had
renounced the character of a “ladies’ man,” and was evidently doomed to
die an old bachelor. Still, we must all have something to love and be
kind to, be it wife, child, friend, cat, dog, or parrot.
Affection, if it has not something external on which to rest, turns to
gall, embittering the life which, under a happier state of things, it
would have sweetened. Marpeet’s benevolence displayed itself in his
kindness to youth: rearing griffins, till fully fledged, constituting
his extreme delight.
Never shall I forget the great satisfaction which his good-humoured
physiognomy would express when surrounded by a bevy of young hands, all
warm in their feelings towards him, and on perfect terms of familiarity,
but at the same time exhibiting that profound deference to his dictum on
deep and important points, such as the age of a horse, the manner of
performing a manœuvre, or the way to make mulled port, and the like,
which had the most bland and soothing influence on his feelings.
Skylark, Wildfire, and myself, were his immediate body-guard; we chummed
with him, and though he allowed us to contribute to the house keeping
expenses, the lion’s share, if the phrase is here allowable, fell to
him.
He and I never quarrelled; but I could generally infer the state of his
feelings from the name or appellation by which he addressed me. “Gernon”
and “Frankibus” were the zero and summer-heat of the scale, between
which were “my lad,” “young gentleman,” “you confounded griff,”
“youngster,” and so forth; all of which, by the invariableness of the
circumstances which elicited them, indicated the state of his mind at
the moment: as “Come, my lad, this noise won’t do;” and “Young
gentleman, I have to make out my report, and beg you won’t interrupt
me.” “Well, old boy, how do you get on? are you disposed for a game at
picquet?” and so forth; but, “Come, Gernon, I don’t like that,” told me
his back was “hogged.”
One blot and inconsistency there was in Marpeet’s character: he was
addicted to flogging his servants for what we here should deem trifling
offences. On these occasions he always, however, put the offender
through the form of a trial, in which, to save trouble, he acted in the
quintuple capacity of plaintiff, judge, jury, witness, and counsel for
the prosecution. After a dispassionate summing up, the guilty party was
wont to be handed over to the kulassee, or tent-pitcher, to have
administered a dozen or two of strokes with the rattan.
Marpeet would justify all this severity very logically, but I shall not
trouble the reader with his reasons; certain it is, for all this, he
paid his servants regularly, was in other respects kind, and on the
whole very popular with them.
Not far from the Chandney Choke, the principal thoroughfare in Delhi,
near which I was now located, is the Duriba, or Lombard Street, where
the principal shroffs or bankers reside; here also many venders of
sweetmeats have their shops; one of these, in my day, was a jolly
fellow, who, out of compliment to his great Western prototype, was
called Mr. Birch, to which name he always answered when summoned to
produce some of his choicest imitations of English “sugar-plumery.”
I think I now see the good-natured fellow, hurrying out through his
ranges of baskets with a few samples for inspection. Many a time and oft
have Marpeet, I, and two or three jolly subs, after dinner, and under
the agreeable stimulus of an extra dose of the rosy beverage, visited
Mr. Birch, in the Duriba, all clinging to the pad of an elephant, whilst
the lights blazed in the bazaars around, fakeers shouted, women
chattered, and crowds of the faithful, moving hither and thither, gave a
most Arabian-Nightish character to the scene.
These scenes of the past come over me sometimes, when my heart is
sorrowfully disposed, with a sadly-painful distinctness; the laughing
faces of those who participated in them are vividly before me, but they,
“my co-mates and brothers in exile,” where are they? Alas! with a sigh I
must answer the question—gone! gone! Others occupy their places; they
will soon disappear to make way for more; “and thus wags the world.”
Oh, life, life! sad are thy retrospects to the best of us, and great are
the trials thou hast for even him whose lot is cast in the pleasantest
places; in thy sweetest pleasures lurk the germs of thy greatest
sufferings, and the more we cultivate and refine our natures, the more
acutely do we feel thy sorrows!
Happy ignorance! fortunate credulity! blessed insensibility! ye all
seem to have your soothing opiates; whilst he who girds up his loins
to seek the talisman of truth from amidst its innumerable
counterfeits—compensation for the past and something like certainty
for the future—finds the farther he moves the less he knows, and,
amazed and confounded at the profound and mighty mystery which
surrounds him, at length sits down and weeps. Well may we exclaim,
“The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate,
Puzzled in mazes and perplex’d in error,
The understanding traces them in vain.”
Virtue, immortal plant, ye will blossom, ’tis true, in heaven, but must
ye here be ever rooted in sorrow and watered with tears? Oh! for some
mighty intellect, some second Newton, to call order out of chaos, light
out of darkness; to hush the Babel of discordant tongues, and give to
religious and moral truth that clear, convincing, and commanding aspect
which shall for ever abash the various forms of perplexity and error.
The awakening mind of the world demands something like unity and
certainty, and will have them if they are to be had. But to proceed.
One of the finest buildings in Delhi is the Jumma Musjid, the principal
mosque of the place. It has three nobly-proportioned domes; also two
lofty and magnificent minarets, which I have often ascended, and enjoyed
from their summits a noble prospect of the city and surrounding country.
From this height you look down on the flat roofs of the houses, and on a
fine evening may observe the inhabitants seated on them, and enjoying
their favourite, though somewhat childish amusements, of flying paper
kites and pigeons.
The pigeons, of which the Hindoostanees are great fanciers, and possess
a vast variety, are trained to join other flocks in their aerial
excursions, and then, by separating from them with great velocity, to
carry off some of those with which they were commingled; these they
bring back in triumph to their bamboo stands, at the call or whistle of
their owners.
At one extremity of the city lies the British residency, always the
scene of hospitable doings, but particularly so during the period to
which I am referring. The Resident at that time was a gentleman who,
with first-rate talents and solid virtues, combined those social
qualities which at once command what it is often difficult to unite—the
love and respect of all.
Nothing could be more agreeable than the residency parties, and on what
were called “public days,” invitations were extended to every one in the
shape of an European; old Mahratta officers, Portuguese, French, and
half-caste merchants, and others without the pale of the regular
service, and not constituting an ordinary portion of the society, would
swell the _levée_ on such occasions.
Punning, as a practice or habit, is the greatest of bores, and deserves
almost all that Johnson and others have said against it; I say “almost,”
for I do not go the full length of that alliterative curmudgeon, when he
says, “He who would make a pun would pick a pocket.” Had this been true,
many an accomplished Barrington would the residency of Delhi have turned
out at this period, with their distinguished chief at their head.
How this itch for punning got into the residency I don’t know, but
certain it is it did get there, and proved remarkably infectious. A good
pun was a first-rate recommendation, indeed, at the residency table, to
him who made it. “_Aquila non captat muscas_;” which means, “Great wits
don’t condescend to make puns.” Granted, as a rule; but every rule has
its exception, and the Resident of that day was himself, “an the truth
be spoken, but little better than one of the wicked,” delighting to take
the lead occasionally in this conversation-burking system, where a man
lies in wait for his neighbour’s words, pounces on one that suits his
purpose, murders, mangles, and distorts it without remorse.
Occasional puns, if really good, give a poignancy to conversation—a
tonquin-beanish sort of odour, which in moderation is very agreeable,
but the excess of them is odious. I remember a few of the residency puns
which I think may rank with some of the fairest on record.
The Resident himself was once asked where he acquired his taste for
punning; he replied, that “he thought he must have picked it up when
travelling through the _Pun_jaub,” through which country he had
accompanied a mission. A fisherman, to whom he had paid handsome wages
to supply him with fish, absconded. “I always considered him a very
_selfish_ man,” said the Resident.
One of the gates of the palace is called the “Delhi Gate,” and in my
time a subaltern’s guard was always stationed there. A young sub, on one
occasion, at the residency table, I believe, asked a friend to take his
turn of duty there. “Excuse me,” said his friend, “I can’t be your
_delegate_ (Delhi Gate) to-day.”
One observed that grain in one part of the city sold for so much. “Yes,”
replied another, “but that is not the _aggregate_ (Agra Gate) price.”
These samples may suffice.
I soon began to discover the truth of the adjutant’s remark, that
Colonel Bobbery was fond of “working the young hands;” for, what with
morning and evening drills, parades, and attending guard-mountings, &c.,
I had little rest or enjoyment. The plain fact was, that I was bent on
pleasure and hated duty, and the colonel, by giving me “excess on’t,”
_i.e._ of the latter, seemed injudiciously determined to increase my
dislike.
The more I think on my early Indian career, and that of other youths,
the more satisfied I am that the sudden transition from school to a
state of independence is most injurious to the individual and his future
happiness; detrimental to the interest of the state and that of the
people we govern; and, in short, that school-boys are not fit to be
masters of themselves or to command others.
Nationally, we possess vast science and almost illimitable powers of
destruction; and nationally, too, we are respected; but not so much so,
I think, individually.
I have met with a great amount of calm, quiet, unprejudiced good sense,
much reasonableness and rationality, amongst the natives of India of a
certain rank, and, when such are disposed to give you their confidence,
nothing is more frequently the subject of remark with them than the
amount of power we confide to inexperienced hands—to mere _chokras_
(“boys”), as they term them, and at nothing do they express more
surprise.
The natives of India are deeply susceptible of kindness, and possessed,
on the whole, of fine and amiable temperaments. If Europeans on all
occasions would regard their feelings and prejudices, which they
certainly ought to do, considering how strong are their own, I verily
believe that they might bind them firmly to us, that is, as far as
aliens ever can be bound, and erect our power on the noblest of
foundations—their hearts. Still they must never be allowed to think that
our kindness springs from fear or weakness.
I am aware that the conduct of the English towards the inhabitants of
India is much more conciliating than it was; still, John Bull is ever a
rough subject, and too prone to employ the _fortiter in re_, rather than
the _suaviter in modo_. His pride prevents him from being amiable and
conciliating, and however much he may be feared and respected, he has
not the good luck to be loved, from the Straits of Calais to the Great
Wall of China.
I doubt if, in the present day, such freaks would be tolerated in a
commandant as those in which our old buffer was continually wont to
indulge, in order to gratify his odd and despotic feelings. Besides
abusing the men in the most violent manner (he had a regular ascending
scale—a sort of gamut of _Galle_, _i.e._ Hindoostanee Billingsgate—on
which few could go higher than himself) till they trembled with rage and
indignation, he would, when out of humour, carry them straight across
the country, formed, in line, in a steeple-chase sort of style, over
banks and ditches, through standing corn and ploughed fields, for three
or four miles, as the crow flies, in a broiling sun, and then, galloping
home, would leave the next in command, or adjutant, to bring them back,
covered with dust and drenched with perspiration.
Once or twice he marched the corps in close column into the river Jumna;
when they reached the banks—there shelving—they commenced marking time,
which consists in moving the feet without advancing; but the old
colonel, to their astonishment, roared “Forward!” and on we all went,
till near waist-deep, when the column fell into a state of disorder; the
adjutant, on one occasion, tumbled off his horse in the _mêlée_, and got
a thorough soaking. The commander thought, I suppose, that, as good
soldiers, we ought to be able to stand “water” as well as “fire.”
After I had been about a month at the station, I was put in orders as
the subaltern for duty on the Delhi gate of the palace, a vast
structure, occupied by the king and his relations and dependants, which
duty continued for a week. Having marched my company down to the gate, I
found the sub I was to relieve, with his guard drawn up, all as stiff as
ramrods, to receive me. After exchanging salutes, and receiving his
instructions to take proper care of the “Asylum of the Universe,”[59]
&c., he gave the word “quick march” to his men, sent them off under the
subadar, or native captain, and then proceeded to introduce me to the
quarters in which I was to pass my period of guard.
In passing the first archway, I found myself in an enclosure, formed by
lofty walls, round the bottom of which ran a line of arcades or
cloisters; at the other end of this enclosure was another noble arch,
surmounted by a vast and lofty pile of buildings, with windows and
galleries; these were the quarters of Major M., who filled the post of
killadar, or commander of the fort and palace guards, a kind-hearted,
hospitable, and brawny Caledonian, who, amongst other harmless
eccentricities, entertained the most profound veneration for the
“_Rowyal Hoose o’ Teemoor_,” as he was wont to call it.
My own quarters, to which the sub introduced me, consisted of a small
turret, in an angle of the ramparts, covered with thatch, and having
something the appearance of a bee-hive; it contained a table and a few
chairs, considerably the worse for wear, and when my cot was placed in
it, there was little room left for myself. Here, then, for seven long
days, I read, shot paroquets with my pellet-bow on the ramparts, cursed
the heat and the flies, and conjugated the verb _s’ennuyer_ to
perfection, through all its moods and tenses.
One interesting break occurred, and that was his Majesty Ackbar Shah’s
going out one day, in grand procession, to visit the tombs of his
ancestors at the Kootub Minar.
On this occasion my guard was drawn up within the enclosure, to salute
him as he passed, whilst another company of troops, and two
six-pounders, were stationed without the second archway, on the plain
between it and the city, for a similar purpose.
Little did I think, in my juvenile days, when I looked on the stern
visage of the Great Mogul on the card covers, that I should ever have
the honour of paying my respects to that fierce Saracen _in propriâ
personâ_; but so it was. I had heard much of Eastern magnificence, but
had never seen before, nor have I indeed since, anything that so
completely realized my vague ideas of barbaric pomp, as this procession
of the King of Delhi.
Though there was much in it that was imperfect, and which told of
reduced means and insufficient resources, it was still a most striking
pageant, and, as it issued tumultuously from those noble and resounding
gateways, amidst the clang of wild instruments and echoing voices, I
confess I was delighted and astonished, and was able to picture most
forcibly what these things must have been when the Moguls were in the
zenith of their power.
We had waited for some time, expecting his majesty to make his
appearance; when at length confused sounds and a distant hubbub
announced that he was on the move; presently, ever and anon, a cavalier,
some omrah of the old noblesse, or inferior horseman, would come
pricking forth from under the arch; then another and another; then
steeds curveting and caracoling, and covered with rich housings and
silver ornaments. After this came his majesty’s regiment of Nujjeebs,
hurrying forth, a wild-looking body of bearded Mahomedan soldiery, armed
with matchlocks and shields, and attired in dark _chupkuns_, or vests,
and red turbans; next came his camel corps, each man with a little
pattereroe, or swivel gun, on the bow of his camel’s saddle, ramming
down and blazing away at a furious rate.
By the way, I was told that, on one of these occasions, a fellow, in his
hurry, shot off his camel’s head.
After these followed a confused assemblage of chiefs on horseback, a
knightly train; their steeds, half-painted vermilion or saffron colour,
adorned with silver chains, and housings almost touching the ground,
some of them composed of the silvery chowries, or Tartarian cows’ tails;
mingled with these were litters, with dome-like canopies and gilded
culesses, containing ladies of the harem, with numerous attendants.
The uproar now increased, and a numerous body of men followed on foot,
bearing crescents, green standards, golden fish on poles, and other
insignia of the royal dignity; all loudly shouting forth the now empty
titles of the fallen monarch. These, his immediate avant-couriers, were
followed by the king himself, seated on an enormous elephant, covered
with a superb _jhool_, or housings, of crimson velvet; the huge tusks of
the monster being adorned with silver rings, whilst his head was painted
with crimson and yellow ochres, in bars and flourishes, like the face of
a North American savage, when arrayed for battle.
The king, Ackbar Shah the Second, an aged and venerable man, adorned
with jewels and aigrettes in his turban, sat immovable in a silver
howdah, looking straight before him, neither to the right nor left, up
nor down (for it is considered beneath the dignity of the “Son of the
Sun and Moon” to notice sublunary matters), whilst his youngest and
favourite son Mirza Selim, a youthful and handsome man, sat behind him,
slowly waving over his head a chowry, or fan, formed of the tail of the
peacock. His majesty’s elephant was followed by many others, more or
less superbly decorated, bearing his relations, and the various officers
and dependants of the court.
The assemblage of these vast animals, the litters, horsemen, and
multitudinous array, combined with the Moresque buildings around, so
admirably in keeping, altogether constituted to my mind a perfect scene
of romance, which it took me two sides of foolscap properly to describe
for the gratification of my friends at home.
I pictured to myself, I remember, as I wrote that account, the delight
it would cause when read by my mother to the fireside circle in the
little green parlour, whilst old Thomas, our lame footman, lingered,
with the kettle in his hand, to catch some of Master Frank’s account of
the “Great Mowgul in the Heast Hingies.”
Well, time wore on; some months had elapsed, during which nothing very
particular had occurred, excepting that I received a letter from the
charming widow, announcing that my kind friend, the old general, had at
last gone to his long home.
It was an admirable epistle, written with all that proper feeling which
such an event would naturally call forth in the breast of an
accomplished woman and affectionate daughter. It breathed a spirit of
resignation, and contained many beautiful, though not very new,
reflections touching the frail tenure of existence, and of that
inevitable termination of it which is alike the lot of us all.
The general, she said, had not forgotten me in his parting moments, but
sent me his blessing, with a hope that I would not forget his advice,
and would strive to emulate my uncle, who seemed, indeed, to have been
his model of a cavalier.
In conclusion, she stated that she was about to join some relations who
were coming to the Upper Provinces, and hoped she might have an
opportunity shortly of renewing my acquaintance, and of assuring me in
person that she was “mine very truly.”
Yes, mine very truly! I saw I was hooked for the widow, and began to put
more faith than ever in the Chinese doctrine of invisible attraction.
“Let me see,” said I; “the widow is two-and-twenty, I eighteen; when I’m
two-and-twenty, she will be six-and-twenty. Oh, ’twill do admirably!
what matters a little disparity?” So I whistled _Lillabulero_, after the
manner of my uncle Toby, concluding _affettuoso_—
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Shall entwine itself verdantly still.
“Captain Marpeet,” said I, one day, after breakfast, “I shall to-morrow
have been just one year in the country, and according to the _Lex
Griffiniensis_ I shall be no longer a greenhorn.”
“Have you, my boy? Why bless my life! so you have, I declare; then by
the piper that played before Moses, I’ll have a few friends to meet you,
and we’ll make a day of it. You’ve never seen a nautch, I believe; we’ll
have Chumbailie and Goolabie[60] and all that set—a devilled turkey, and
a glorious blow-out.”
Marpeet was as good as his word; he posted off _chits_ (invitations) to
a dozen choice spirits; ordered a fat sheep to be killed, which had been
six months on gram; bought the best ham to be had in cantonments, and a
turkey for its _vis-a-vis_; ordered half a chest of claret, and beer to
be _tundakurred_ (cooled); sent his bearer to bespeak a tip-top set of
nautch-girls, and then, slapping me on the back, exclaimed,
“Now, Frank, my boy, we are all right and tight, and your griffinage
shall close with a flourish of trumpets.”
On the following day the guests assembled at dinner, and the old mosque
resounded with the echoes of our revelry and mirth. Marpeet certainly
boxed the kansamah[61] for omitting the pigeon-pie, and ordered the cook
half a dozen rattans for underboiling the ham; but, on the whole, he was
in splendid key.
Evening at length approached; more young officers came in; the wall
shades were lighted, and chairs arranged in a semicircle; teapoys, port,
mint, claret, were all _moojood_ (present), when the curtain was rolled
up, and a bevy of as pretty gazelle-eyed damsels, arrayed in robes of
sky-blue, crimson and gold, bedecked with rings and chains, and redolent
of oil of Chumbailie, as I ever saw, entered the apartment in stately
guise, followed by sundry old duennas, and four or five rakish looking
musicians, with embroidered skull-caps, long raven ringlets, and slender
ungirdled waists, bearing some of the funniest looking musical
instruments ever seen since the days of Orpheus.
After some excruciating tuning, thrumming, and twisting of keys, a
couple of young sirens, fair Mogulanees, whose languishing eyes shone
brightly through their antimonial borders, broke forth into a song,
advancing with hands extended and slow movements of the feet, their
anklet-bells jingling harmoniously the “_goongroo ka awaz_,” by the way,
a music on which the Indian poet loves to expatiate. As the song and the
movement quickened, the heads of the fiddlers worked ecstatically,
whilst they sawed away at their outlandish fiddles with surprising
energy and vigour.
Marpeet was in raptures; he considered nautches superior to all the
operas in the universe, and thought he could hardly ever have enough of
them.
The “_Cahar ca nautch_,” or “dance of the bearer,” a favourite in India,
was now called for loudly, and the prettiest girl of the set, retiring a
little on one side, and twisting a turban saucily round her head, after
the fashion of that order of menial, and otherwise arranging her attire
into a somewhat similar resemblance to the other parts of their dress,
darted forward arms a-kimbo, _à la Vestris_, and danced an animated
lilt, something of the nature of a Highland fling.
Rapturous were the “bravos” of the officers, and the “_wau! waus!_” of
the natives. The girl’s excitement increased with the applause; the
fiddlers worked like heroes, whilst the _doog-doogie_ man, or drummer,
pegged away at his long drum, till, flushed and exhausted, she made her
salaam, and retired within the circle amidst renewed plaudits.
This was followed by “_Mootrib-i koosh_,” “songster sweet,” and other
Persian and Hindostanee airs, not forgetting “_Sarrai teen pisa
muchlee_,” _i.e._, “three ha’porth of fish,” by way of _finale_, till at
length the dancing grew languid; the hookas bubbled faintly, and
Marpeet, starting up, dismissed the dancers, and we all adjourned to do
honour to the devilled turkey’s legs and a saucepan of mulled port, of
Marpeet’s own brewing.
Enlivened by the change, the song and the toast went round, and Marpeet,
who was half-seas-over, sung us,
“Dear Tom, this brown jug, which now foams with mild ale,”
in his very best style; and, by particular request I warbled “The
Woodpecker.”
[Illustration: The Last Night of His Griffinage Marpeet “Royal.”]
“Franco, your health and song, my boy,” said my friend, rising on his
legs; “and now, gentlemen (_hiccup_), I am about to propose the toast of
the evening, and one which, I am sure, you’ll all drink with as much
pleasure (_hiccup_) as I have in giving it: gentlemen, off with your
heel-taps; are you all charged? Wildfire, pass the bottle. Gentlemen, I
am now about to propose the health of a young friend of mine, whom I
consider in some respects a chick of my own rearing. We came out
together, and I take credit for having made him the good fellow you all
find him (_hiccup_). This is the last day of his griffinage, and
to-morrow he is one of us old hands. Gentlemen, I give you, standing,
with three times three, long life, health, and success to our friend,
Frank Gernon, the griffin. Hip! hip! hurrah!”
Woodfall and Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C.
-----
Footnote 1:
The arms of the City of London supported by Griffins or Wyverns.
Footnote 2:
Milton speaks of the Gryphon as a “guardian of gold,” but that can
clearly have no connection with _our_ animal, whose propensities in
respect to the precious metals are quite of an opposite tendency.
Footnote 3:
Cant term for residents in the Bengal Presidency—“Qui Hye,” “who
wait,” being constantly addressed to servants.
Footnote 4:
_Mulls_—cant term for Madrassees.
Footnote 5:
_Crannies_—Portuguese and country-born clerks in offices, and fillers
of subordinate Government employments, &c.
Footnote 6:
_Ticca_, i.e. hired.
Footnote 7:
Honest Sancho Panza divides the world into two grand classes—the
have-somethings and the have-nothings. Blacky, by an equally
comprehensive arrangement, includes all mankind under the heads of
Topee Wala and Puckree Bund, or _hat-men_ and _turban-wearers_.
Footnote 8:
6 bottles real Cognac, 1 pine cheese, 2 pot raspberry jam, 2 bag of
shot.
Footnote 9:
Village-curs, appertaining to no one in particular.
Footnote 10:
A “made-up” terrier.
Footnote 11:
Liverpool, long considered a distinct empire from Great Britain by the
natives, and as forming no part of Europe.
Footnote 12:
Sick _maun_, or sick man, one of the few phrases borrowed from the
English, and applied to brutes, furniture, or anything damaged or out
of order.
Footnote 13:
In this country of high-pressure morality, it may be right to explain
that the same reluctance to mingle under one roof the children
_legitimè procreati_ with those less legally begotten does not exist
in India, where unhappily, humanity and laxity flourish together, the
reverse of what it should be, of course.
Footnote 14:
Broad-brimmed hat of pith or solah.
Footnote 15:
_Boosa_, chopped straw.
Footnote 16:
_Hilsa_, a fish slightly resembling the salmon.
Footnote 17:
_Soondur Bun_: i.e. the beautiful wood.
Footnote 18:
_Jhoul_, housings; _howdah_, seat.
Footnote 19:
The attack on the factory is an actual occurrence, and took place as
described in all the essential particulars. The relator has been on
the spot, and had the details from the principal actor in the scene.
Footnote 20:
_i.e._, understand.
Footnote 21:
_Jow-jehanum_; a peremptory injunction to proceed to a place which it
is not usual to mention to “ears polite.”
Footnote 22:
Tales of a Parrot.
Footnote 23:
“Well.”
Footnote 24:
“Very well.”
Footnote 25:
A strong phrase for driving a lady out in a buggy; in India, looked
upon as symptomatic of an approaching matrimonial crisis.
Footnote 26:
Oh! nurse, bring the Paun box.
Footnote 27:
Europeans—thus pronounced by English soldiers.
Footnote 28:
Seapie, sepoy.
Footnote 29:
In the native regiments there are two grenadier companies, in European
corps only one.
Footnote 30:
Chick or sequin, four rupees.
Footnote 31:
Since this was written, medals have been ordered, I believe, for the
officers who served in Affghanistan. Is it too late to give them to
those who fought and suffered in Java, Arracan, Nepaul, &c.?
Footnote 32:
True—very well.
Footnote 33:
Plantations.
Footnote 34:
European.
Footnote 35:
The red-legged partridge of Kamaon is also called a chikor, but this
is not the bird here meant.
Footnote 36:
Nagara: royal kettle-drum.
Footnote 37:
The Sultan Sujah, brother of Aurungzebe, fled to Arracan, where he was
murdered.
Footnote 38:
Meerun, the assassin of Surajah Dowlah, killed by lightning.
Footnote 39:
Peepul (_Ficus religiosa_) entwines its silvery and tortuous roots
around old buildings, and hastens their destruction.
Footnote 40:
A fact.
Footnote 41:
The hunza, or braminy duck. They fly in couples, have a plaintive cry,
and are considered emblems of constancy by the natives. They are the
Mujnoon and Leila of the stream. The hunza is the ensign of the
Burman, as was the eagle of the Roman empire.
Footnote 42:
_Mûllah_—boatman.
Footnote 43:
Sub-lieuts. of artillery, a few years ago, were called Lieut.
Fireworkers: the rank is now abolished.
Footnote 44:
_Rooee muchee_, a huge fish of the carp kind, one of the best in
India.
Footnote 45:
Brook.
Footnote 46:
This was about two years before the worthy griffin, whose
autobiography is here given to the public, died, as stated in the
preface, of an old-standing liver complaint.
Footnote 47:
In both the descriptions and illustrations of these volumes, the
military costume of Europeans and natives will be found slightly to
differ from those at present worn. For example, Hessians now rank with
Hauberks and other antiques; the shako has superseded the chimney-pot
cap, and so on.
Footnote 48:
Scimitars.
Footnote 49:
Since this period, a church has been erected at Chunar, a square
tower, with pinnacles; one of the most truly English structures I have
seen abroad.
Footnote 50:
_Sword_, whence probably _scimitar_.
Footnote 51:
Gourd, vegetable marrow.
Footnote 52:
The English reader can have little idea of the viciousness of Indian
horses and tatoos; they fight like tigers, particularly the
last-named.
Footnote 53:
This is a faithful description of a real occurrence, though it did not
take place at the supposed time.
Footnote 54:
When the camel blows out his water-bag from his mouth, the act is
attended with a loud gurgling, or rather bubbling sound.
Footnote 55:
Fields of Bajra—_Holcus spicatus_.
Footnote 56:
_Terrier bunnow_—a village pariar dog, docked and cropped to make him
pass for a terrier.
Footnote 57:
Whose son acquired since a dreadful celebrity as the murderer of Mr.
Fraser.
Footnote 58:
Since this period, cantonments have been erected outside the walls of
the city.
Footnote 59:
“_Jehan Punnah_,” one of the titles of the Mogul.
Footnote 60:
Jasmin and Rose-water; female names.
Footnote 61:
Butler.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.